


Sleep Thou, And I Will Wind Thee In My Arms

by hesterbyrde



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drinking, Fluff and Angst, Forehead Kisses, M/M, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Sickfic, Whiskey - Freeform, hannibal catches the flu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 08:39:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8321227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesterbyrde/pseuds/hesterbyrde
Summary: Hannibal squinted at the read-out on the thermometer. “101.3 degrees.” he pronounced as he sagged against the kitchen door jamb. “I suppose it’s no wonder that I feel utterly miserable.” He hugged his plush bathrobe even tighter around his shoulders. He’d been wearing it all day. That should have been the first hint that something was amiss. But with matching slippers. Even with a fever, Hannibal wouldn’t be caught being unfashionable. Or short of words, apparently.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [9_of_Clubs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/9_of_Clubs/gifts).



> Here's wishing the lovely the-winnowing-wind/9_of_clubs a very very happy birthday (several days late). A request was made for snuggly needy Hannibal and I've been pondering writing a sick-fic so here we are!
> 
> Much love to you darling! I hope your birthday was magical and that you enjoy your present!
> 
> All the best! And thanks for reading.

Hannibal squinted at the read-out on the thermometer. “101.3 degrees.” he pronounced as he sagged against the kitchen door jamb. “I suppose it’s no wonder that I feel utterly miserable.” He hugged his plush bathrobe even tighter around his shoulders. He’d been wearing it all day. That should have been the first hint that something was amiss. But with matching slippers. Even with a fever, Hannibal wouldn’t be caught being unfashionable. Or short of words, apparently.

Will looked up at him from where he was cleaning the day’s catch. “You… you don’t think something’s gotten infected do you? From… y’know. Before?”

Hannibal gave a confident shake of his head. “No, I fear the cough I wrestled with in the night has simply blossomed into a bout of the common flu. Nothing more serious to worry about.”

Will nodded, letting his gaze rest on Hannibal and slowly realizing he’d never really seen him like this. He’d seen him bruised, and sweaty, and battered, and sprawled out on a beach nearly bleeding out. But all those times there had still been a spark of defiant power that lurked in his inky black eyes. Something that said the fight wasn’t all out of him yet.

The fight was out of him right now. From his red-rimmed eyes, to his heavy, saturated breath, to his slow, shuffling gait. All of it wrapped in his heavy velvet robe… it made him look frighteningly small. Almost vulnerable. 

There was a word Will never thought would describe Hannibal.

Hannibal sniffed wetly and stepped into the kitchen, rousing Will from his reverie. “I’d best get started on the mirepoix,” He said with a heavy sigh. “If we’re to actually have bouillabaisse for dinner tonight. Or at least the best I can approximate.”

Will felt himself frown at the thought of Hannibal suffering through making dinner, plagued with fever and rib-wracking cough. “I’ve got it, Hannibal.” he said, softly. Almost soothingly. Something about Hannibal begged to be spoken to in that way. At least right now. “I watched you make it before. Go lay down. You look like you’re about to fall down anyway.” 

Hannibal glanced up at Will. Some alien emotion… hollow and needy flitted across Hannibal’s sallow face.

“I’ll come check on you while it simmers,” Will felt prompted to reassure him. “Go on.”

Hannibal nodded and turned to go, his plush slippers scuffing softly on the stone tile. Will watched him leave. Something about the hunch in his shoulders and the almost bereft look in his eyes tugged at his heart like a child at apron strings.

About an hour later, when Will was satisfied that he had at least made a good show of mimicking Hannibal’s knife skills, and the soup was set to boil, he peeked in on Hannibal. He found he’d taken over the couch in the study, his normally imposing form curled in on itself and a fine tremor quaking down his arms. 

Will’s brow pinched into a frown. He’d truly never seen Hannibal like this. He’d never even thought to imagine Hannibal like this. Coming down with something as common as the flu seemed utterly pedestrian for Hannibal. He’d always seemed so capable. So prepared for all occasions and eventualities. And so eager to help those he cared about in his own twisted way. 

Will recalled Alana telling him about the one time back at Johns Hopkins when she’d turned up for a study session with a hangover. He’d had her feeling better in no time thanks to a healthy dose of IV potassium and a few other drugs that he’d “happened” to have lying around. And Will vividly remembered an unsteady and bewildered Abigail taking her first tentative walk around her hospital floor leaning on a gentle, almost doting Hannibal’s arm. Even Will himself had been a recipient of Hannibal’s seemingly boundless hospitality and care… coffee at all hours. Careful tending of wounds...

Will cocked his head as he regarded Hannibal shivering on the couch. Did Hannibal ever have anyone to turn to in the same capacity? Had he ever? An orphan. A solitary figure all his adult life. No significant others. No relationships at all, save professional ones… it certainly didn’t seem at all likely.

A decision dawned on Will all at once. He turned smartly on his heel, and returned to the kitchen to put the kettle on. A rummage through the liquor cabinet and the refrigerator gave him the ingredients for the cure he sought. While he waited for the water to boil, he went to the bedroom and fetched a heavy quilt from the cedar chest and some aspirin from the medicine cabinet. With home remedy and blanket in hand he headed for the study again.

Hannibal looked up at his entrance. “Will?” his voice was becoming raspy already.

“Hey. Soup’s on.” he said softly, setting the mugs on the end table. “Here. Sit up. I’ve brought you something to help you feel better.”

Hannibal groaned a little as he pulled himself upright. “It’s not soup. It’s bouillabaisse.”

Will snorted as he wrapped the quilt over Hannibal’s shoulders. “Same difference.”

“It’s inexact.” Hannibal said with a sniff. “Bouillabaisse is a very specific preparation.”

Will smiled. “And you’ll have to to tell me if I managed to pull it off, or if it is indeed just fish soup. Here. Take these and drink this.” He passed him the pills and one of the mugs.

“What’s in it?” Hannibal asked, nosing in vain at the mug thanks to his inflamed sinuses.

“It’s a hot toddie. Lemon, honey, and a sizeable dose of whiskey. It’ll cure anything that’s wrong with you and a few things that aren’t.” Will answered. “My dad used to make these all the time in the winter to knock the chill off after working in the Erie dockyards all day.”

Hannibal looked up at him, his ruddy eyes gleaming in spite of the fever and the chills. “Thank you, Will.” he said softly.

The sight of him smiling warmed something deep in the pit of Will’s stomach. His tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth for a split second before he stammered. “Can I… Do I need to get you anything else?”

Hannibal’s eyes turned sad as he shook his head. Despite the outward answer, Will could sense a request hiding behind his teeth. Behind that civil, wide-lipped smile. The shivers returned, masked by a long sip from the steaming mug. “This is delicious, Will. Thank you. And thank you for dinner.”

“Come here.” Will said with a sigh, sinking down onto the couch and swinging one leg behind him. Hannibal regarded him for a split second, his features sharp features cast in a thin veneer of wariness… of distrust at his own senses, before he set the mug on the table and burrowed without reserve against Will’s chest. Will scrubbed his hands over Hannibal’s shoulders and back in an attempt to warm him further before winding his arms around him and feeling Hannibal’s body sink against his. The trust mingled with the deep need was overwhelming. So much so that Will couldn’t stop himself from laying a soft kiss against the part of Hannibal’s hair, just to feel him sigh.

“If you keep this up, you run the risk of catching this.” Hannibal said, his voice muffled and heavily laden with his accent.

“That’s why I’ve got a toddie of my own.” Will said, squeezing him gently. “Lemon juice has vitamin C, and whiskey kills everything.”

“You know it doesn’t work like that.” Hannibal said with a soft snort of laughter. Will felt it puff out along his collarbones.

“Sure it does. It’s a folk remedy. It works however I say.” he replied, giving the part of his hair another kiss. “And I also say we’re having fish soup for dinner tonight.”

“Bouillabaisse.” He sat up a little to look at Will pointedly. “Did you put in the Herbes de Provence after-”

“After the mirepoix had simmered for thirty minutes, yes.” Will finished, smoothing a hand down the plane of his back. “Rest, Hannibal. I’ve got a timer on the bouillabaisse. It’ll be fine.”

Hannibal heaved a sigh that seemed to shake loose a whole host of long unspoken reservations. He burrowed down into the quilt and into Will even further. Will spent a long time, gingerly stroking Hannibal’s hair, letting the ash blond strands twine around his fingers. And every time he thought Hannibal had drifted off, he would feel him shift, drawing Will closer every time he moved.

“Did… did no one ever do this for you when you were young?” Will asked finally.

Hannibal shook his head, rubbing his face on Will’s sweater like a cat with a table corner. “There was no one.”

“But you got sick.” Will said carefully.

“I was not a sickly child, but I did take ill once. Dreadfully.” Hannibal answered. “There was an outbreak of whooping cough at my orphanage not long after I arrived.”

Will’s expression pinched. “That must have been awful.”

“It was very serious. A handful of orphans actually died.” Hannibal’s voice had turned thin and brittle. “They thought I might. They thought the sickness had me.”

“But that wasn’t it.” Will said, aware he was treading in very dangerous water.

Hannibal shook her head again. “I was lonely.” he said, his voice very small. “Bereft of my sister. And of my parents. And there were so many other sick children. I hardly fault the nuns for not paying attention to me. They truly didn’t think I would make it, so what was the point.”

Will licked his lips, weighing his words very carefully. “I’m glad you did.”

Hannibal looked up at him, confusion swirling in his bleary eyes. “Truly? After everything.”

Will tightened his arms around Hannibal, and dropped another kiss onto his forehead. “Yes, Hannibal.” He said, with a ghost of a smile. “I’m glad. Even if it means I might catch the flu from you.”

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, this home remedy really is a thing. Hot toddies are my go-to for any time I get the sniffles, flu, allergies, or just need to get over a really long day. Here's the recipe!
> 
> Ingredients:  
> 1 shot whiskey (I usually go for a little extra... and I like Jack Daniels best.)  
> 1 shot honey  
> 1/2 shot lemon juice
> 
> Pour into a mug and top off with hot water. Drink until you feel better.


End file.
